


Shameth Random Writing Prompts

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An assortment of randomly generated prompts for this baron wasteland of a ship tag. Who knows when this'll update.
Relationships: Shamir Nevrand/Seteth
Kudos: 6





	Shameth Random Writing Prompts

**Author's Note:**

> The Meal 
> 
> "You find yourself in a unique eating situation while having a meal."

Following the incident that blew Seteth’s entire thousand-year-old secret out of the water, he had made a point of being honest about his heritage going forwards, and that made for a lot of overwhelming curiosity from those who were not immediately repulsed knowing that the head of the Church was not like them. It was an unbearably humid day, and he’d made the (perhaps now not-so-wise) decision to let his neck breathe, thick green hair pulled back with a modest navy ribbon to match his robes. The only issue with this being that humans do not have pointed tips to their ears, and this _forced_ the impression that Seteth was very _very_ different to those who had either been denying that fact, or who had not quite believed it up until now. 

He had been hounded by stares for the entire day, but having already resolved not to hide anymore, untying his hair for the sake of a bit of peace would absolutely give the wrong impression to co-workers and visitors alike. Even now, sat in the dining hall, simply trying to enjoy his favoured supper of grilled herring, he has an audience.

Knights stood muttering in his direction amongst themselves when in line to collect their meals, nuns and maids alike flittered past very obviously gossiping about him, and a few bold orphans actually stood at the end of the bench he sat at, hands clutching at the surface, staring up at him like he had sprouted a second head.

Perhaps it was paranoia after hiding his differences for centuries, the bareness of his neck suddenly making him feel very vulnerable, but the chatter grew ever-louder, and he’d very much lost his appetite. He was moments away from just abandoning his meal altogether and turning in for the night when a tray slammed down across the table from him, and he peered up from under his brow just in time to see a pheasant leg get speared with a knife. The hall silenced in an instant, the children scarpering with a series of yelps, before all returned to minding their own business for the time-being. Seteth released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, looking over to his saviour with a strained smile. Too many times to count she had come to his aid at the exact moment he needed pulling out of his own head.

“Shamir, thank you.” He spoke hushed, almost fond.

“Shut up and eat your food before it gets cold.”


End file.
